The glow of victory still lingered, but in the days following their match against Rakuzan, the Teiko team found themselves at a strange crossroads. They had finally started working as one. The feeling of unity had been real, tangible—but unity is delicate. And with greater expectations came pressure.
Gojo noticed it first in the silence after practice. The team still played well, still moved like a single organism on the court—but off the court, something was shifting.
Aomine had started skipping cooldown drills. Kise laughed louder than usual but lingered less. Midorima's quiet observations had grown colder. Murasakibara barely responded to anything that didn't involve snacks.
And Akashi… Akashi watched everything without saying much at all. His gaze, always composed, now held an edge that even Gojo couldn't quite read.
In a rare moment of calm, Gojo pulled Kuroko aside during a break between drills. The gym was emptying out, sneakers squeaking faintly in the distance.
"You feel it too, don't you?" Gojo asked, tossing a ball up and catching it lazily.
Kuroko gave a quiet nod. "We're drifting again."
Gojo sat on a bench, elbows on his knees. "I thought we turned a corner, but maybe that Rakuzan game just covered the cracks for a while."
Kuroko stood nearby, arms folded, voice quiet. "We can't expect change to be immediate. The game forced us together… but the real work is after."
Gojo exhaled. "Yeah. It's one thing to come together for a win. It's another to stay together when no one's watching."
He paused, then added, "They're scared."
Kuroko looked at him.
"Of what?" he asked.
Gojo leaned back, eyes on the ceiling. "Of losing again. Of not being enough. Some of them—maybe all of us—got a taste of what it's like to care. That's a terrifying thing when you're used to relying only on yourself."
Kuroko lowered his head. "You're right. Aomine's afraid his instincts will be dulled. Kise's afraid of being compared. Midorima's afraid of irrationality. Murasakibara fears effort. Akashi fears losing control."
Gojo blinked, genuinely impressed. "You read them like a book."
Kuroko gave the faintest smile. "I've been watching them longer than you have."
Gojo grinned. "Touché."
---
Later that day, Akashi called for a team meeting. No coaches. No drills. Just the seven of them in an empty room.
For a while, no one spoke.
Gojo leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Kuroko stood near him, silent but alert.
Akashi looked at them all in turn. His voice, when it finally came, was quieter than usual—but sharp. "We won against Rakuzan. But that doesn't mean we're strong."
Aomine snorted. "So what, we're weak?"
Akashi met his gaze evenly. "I said we aren't strong. Not yet. What we have now is fragile. And unless we're honest about that, it'll shatter."
Kise looked down at his hands, his usual cheer nowhere to be found.
Midorima pushed his glasses up, murmuring, "Then what do we do?"
"Talk," Gojo said suddenly. His voice wasn't playful. "We stop pretending we're invincible. We talk about what we're afraid of. Or we let this team die."
Silence.
Then Kuroko stepped forward.
"I'll start."
Everyone looked at him.
"I'm afraid that I'm not enough to hold this team together," Kuroko said. "That I'll disappear again. That no matter how hard I try, you'll all outgrow me and move on."
Kise blinked. "Tetsu…"
Aomine looked away, jaw clenched.
Gojo nodded. "My turn, then."
He glanced around. "I'm afraid I'll fall back into my old habits. That I'll push too hard, too fast, and ruin everything we're building. That I'll get scared of feeling close to people and start playing like I don't need anyone again."
Another silence followed. This one different. Heavier.
Then Kise raised his hand awkwardly. "I… I'm scared I'll never be as good as the rest of you. That I'm just copying what you all already are. And one day, you'll realize I don't belong."
Midorima, after a long pause, spoke next. "I'm afraid of irrational things. Of change. Of depending on people who don't make sense. It makes me feel unbalanced."
Aomine sat back with a frustrated grunt. "I'm scared that if I start caring again, I'll lose what makes me strong. That if I stop playing for myself, I'll become ordinary."
Murasakibara was the last. He chewed on his candy for a while before speaking. "I'm scared it'll stop being fun. That trying so hard will just make me hate the game."
All eyes turned to Akashi.
He met each gaze without flinching.
"I'm afraid," he said, "that if I don't control everything… I'll disappear. That without order, I'll be lost."
No one mocked him. No one laughed.
Instead, something deeper settled in the room.
Understanding.
Gojo looked around at all of them and gave a lopsided smile. "So we're all terrified. Good. That means we're finally being honest."
Kuroko nodded. "And now we move forward. Together."
---
That night, there was no celebration. No grand declarations. Just a quiet resolve that something had shifted again.
Not because they had defeated a powerful opponent.
But because they had faced themselves.
And for once, they didn't look away.